Page 60 of At Love’s Command

Wallace lifted the hat that had been covering his face and glowered at Preach, obviously unhappy at having his nap disturbed.

Preach offered no apology. He gestured with a nod to the other passengers sitting in the front section of the car. “See if you can charm one of them fellas into loaning you their whiskey flask. The captain’s wound needs tendin’.”

Wallace straightened, his eyes widening into full alertness. He leaned forward and eyed Matt around Preach’s wide shoulders. “Is it bad? I thought it was just a crease.”

“Apparently he confused crease with canyon.”

“It’s not that bad.” Matt smacked Preach’s elbow off its resting place on the back of the seat in front of them, taking great satisfaction in watching his corporal’s body jerk forward as he tried to stop his fall. “Just bleeding a bit more than optimal.”

“You know what Dr. Burkett would say.” Wallace shifted into a schoolmaster tone that would’ve chafed Matt’s hide had it not been for the image his words evoked of Josie and her tendency to boss him around. “Even a small wound can get infected.” He turned a searching gaze to the front of the car. “Any idea who the best target might be?”

Jonah spoke up for the first time. “Second bench on the left. Fella with the muttonchop sideburns. Silver flask. Left breast pocket.”

Matt shook his head, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. Jonah’s eagle eyes rarely missed anything.

Wallace gave a nod, got up from his seat, and sauntered forward to work his magic. Preach, on the other hand, tugged his own shirt from his waistband, pulled out his knife, and notched a section about three inches from the hem. Grabbing hold of the split fabric, he tore it all the way around, earning him a handful of turned heads and raised eyebrows from the other passengers.

“I got a handkerchief that’s fairly clean,” Jonah offered. He passed a white cotton square across the aisle.

Preach dropped it onto the seat between him and Matt. “Thanks.”

A minute later, Wallace was back with the whiskey. Matt slouched sideways to expose the red gash, then steeled himself.

Preach met his eyes. Matt nodded. Whiskey poured.

Every muscle hardened into stone as Matt fought to hold back a scream of agony. Preach had the gall to administer a second dose, then finally smashed the handkerchief against Matt’s throbbing flesh.

“Hold this.”

Matt obeyed, covering the dressing with his hand and pressing it tight against his side as the fire abated just enough for him to catch his breath.

“Next time, I’m voting for cauterization.” Matt shifted as Preach reached around his midsection to apply the shirttail bandage. “Probably hurts less.”

“You’re gettin’ soft in your old age, Captain. Whining about scratches.”

Matt didn’t rise to the bait. In truth, he wasn’t sure he could rise to much of anything at the moment. His legs felt about as solid as wet newsprint.

“Captain? You all right?” Wallace slid into the seat in front of them and regarded him with growing concern. “You’re looking pale all of a sudden.”

He was feeling pale all of a sudden. If one could feel pale. He clenched his jaw and fought the fog invading his brain. He was a cavalryman. Withstanding pain was part of the job. He didn’t have time for weakness. He had a mission to accomplish. A woman to save. His woman.

“I’m fine.” He gritted out the lie, knowing he was fooling no one, yet also knowing none of his men would call him on it.

Warriors understood. A soldier completed his mission or died trying.

With Josie’s safety hanging in the balance, nothing short of death would drag Matt from the battlefield.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

Josephine watched the sunset fade with a growing sense of dread. Tending the wounded had kept her busy throughout the afternoon and evening, but as night approached, apprehension found fertile ground in her soul.

She was a woman alone in a camp full of men. Drunk men. Morally bankrupt men. Men held in check by an outlaw whose only motive to protect her lay in her monetary value as a hostage. That and possibly his desire for self-preservation.

Taggart had witnessed the capabilities of the Horsemen with his own eyes. And now that he knew their identities, thanks to Charlie’s attempt to throw around the weight of others when he himself had none, Taggart understood who would come after him should any harm befall her while in his care. The number of arrests that could be laid at the Horsemen’s feet would give even the cockiest outlaw a moment’s pause. Whether or not that pause would last the night, however, was a question Josephine couldn’t yet answer.

When the camp cook rang the bell and men started assembling in the yard between the house and the barn, Josephine made a point to look for Charlie. He stood beside the chuck wagon, one arm shackled to a spoke in the back wheel. When he moved to dip water into an outlaw’s cup, she noticed his limp, but the leg seemed to be bearing his weight for the most part, so the knee must not be broken. He looked up and caught her eye. She held his gaze for a single heartbeat, then turned away. Some of today’s injuries were not superficial.